She had, to be fair, a rather nice voice, Pleaant in a steamy-shower-and-church-choir sort of way, So it hadn’t been simply empty patter on his part The opportunistic language of courting (Though there was no shortage of that, But she’d recognized it as such, writing it off As something she’d deal with later) And so she would serenade him, Softly if not just simply humming, In one of the common rooms Scattered about the cold cow college they attended, Or some bench on campus During the fleeting bits of summer or spring The land enjoyed before the earth locked-up for the winter, And later still after the requisite preambles Involving showers of rice and self-conscious dancing, Gaily tossed garters and force-fed cake, Her voice retaining its amiability, Though often for her sole enjoyment, As there were late meetings and flat tires, Out of town conferences and overdue notices, And in time those nattering bits and bobs Which required their presence in separate locales Seeped under the same roof, Their dinners together brief gulped-down affairs, The evenings spent in separate rooms Perched in front of separate screens, The chasm only breached by infrequent ******* (The process either perfunctory expressions of guilt Or hopelessly frenetic and ultimately empty) And she would often don a set of headphones, Pulling up playlists of the old songs, Though there seemed to be an emphasis On those tunes of a rather minor key.